Someone give me a breathalyzer, right now. Do it. It’s only 8am but I swear I could blow at least a .05.
Being so multicultural and everything, Sharaun and I and friends went out to celebrate a day dedicated to the patron saint of Ireland. And, despite all the intelligence which pointed to it being a weeknight, I went ahead and invaded the beer tent anyway in a futile hunt for the weekend. I never did find the weekend, but I realized I’d been looking a little too hard sometime around 11pm. That’s when I found myself standing outside with some guy in a towering green felt hat which had a poofy green afro of fake hair attached. He offered me a cigarette and I accepted, a sure sign of drunkenness for me. Loopy already, I got the magic Marlboro and could barely stick around to hear the rest of my new friend’s story (something about a tattoo he got when his dad died: a flaming baseball and some dice). It’s always amazed me that the rare gravitational anomaly where you suddenly feel like you’re rooted to the ground and your surroundings are swirling around you only seems to happen when you’re drunk… there’s got to be some science behind that. Thankfully, I was able to master my emetic reflex and make it to bed.
Sometimes I wonder if my lulls in writing are because I’m so busy that I don’t have time to write, or because I’m so busy that there’s no time for anything worth writing about to happen. I think it’s a bit of both. I mean, after a 12hr day of writing e-mail, not listening to meetings, and staring at a computer monitor… there’s really not much to write about besides writing e-mail, not listening to meetings, and staring at a computer monitor – and that stuff just doesn’t make for interesting writing. On days where I don’t really do anything but work, there’s not much interesting stuff to talk about. As a semi-firm (like tofu) rule, I don’t get into too much detail about what I do for a living or where I do it… I mean, bloggin’ fools have been fired for that!